


Undercover and Uncoerced

by kettish



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Obi-Wan is a flirt of epic proportions, can be construed as noncon since Obi-Wan doesn't always know it's Qui-Gon, he's gonna go for it, masked shenanigans, the man knows what he wants ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 15:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11993091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettish/pseuds/kettish
Summary: punsbulletsandpointythings: Oooh prompts? How about some scenario where Obi is talking to/hitting on someone, and that someone happens to be Qui-Gon, but Obi-Wan doesn't realize it's him?Me: buckle up buckaroos, this demands Plot (tm).





	Undercover and Uncoerced

**Author's Note:**

> Not related to any of my other works--I took prompts from Tumblr and this one ran away with me a bit. Rather than put it with other ficlets (that are usually less than 2k words) I decided it deserved its own title. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, and with thanks to punsbulletsandpointythings for the excellent prompt!

The mission the Council assigned him was relatively simple, Qui-Gon reflected. The healer assisting him tsked and nudged his thigh, reminding him to stay still. Qui-Gon corrected his movement and focused on not moving so the second-skin masking would set properly.

 

“In light of the recent hacking of the Senate directory, we’d like to run our own tests,” Battlemaster Dallig had briefed Qui-Gon in his office. “We needed someone who is used to infiltration, who can be trusted with our data, and who is a good enough fighter to get safely out of the Temple should they be discovered. The Council selected you, due to your success with the Hapan Consortium.”

 

Qui-Gon had wondered at the time, hadn’t he gotten into quite a bit of trouble for that? At least something good came out of it, he supposed.

 

And so here he was, getting a new face, new skin, and having his hair lopped off into a passably stylish short cut. The second-skin mask cut into his sense of smell a little, but his subspecies of human was better than most in that arena, so it evened out. They’d fitted him with Temple Security uniforms under the assumption that the most probable entry point was there, and set him up with a data card and some credits, boots, blaster--basically anything he’d need to be a regular officer and civilian.

 

The final step in the process was for Qui-Gon to mute himself in the Force. It was a disorienting process, like losing any sense, and Qui-Gon was allotted a day to get used to it. A good thing, too--he bumped into Force-only-knows how many people that day going to the refectory. Sneaking about would have been out of the question.

 

His first day in the Temple as Keegan Hansh started out smoothly. He ate with a group of security officers, proffering his cover story when asked where he hailed from. Qui-Gon was an affable man when he wanted to be, and this mission depended on his ability to subtly ingratiate himself. After wishing them well he was scheduled for his first rounds, past the Archives and through one of the residence halls. There were a few Initiates who watched him curiously, and he made mental note of it for his report--these younglings had realized he was walking a different path than his predecessors. Well done.

 

He made it all the way back to the Archive when he turned a corner, and in his Force-blindness didn’t notice the man he ran into until he was on the floor in front of Qui-Gon.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry--” Qui-Gon began, reaching down to help the man up, and then pulled up short. Obi-Wan laughed briefly as he picked himself up, brushing off his tunic. Belatedly, Qui-Gon did the same, and Obi-Wan paused briefly before finishing up.

 

“Hello there,” he said warmly, and Qui-Gon’s eyebrows went up. Obi-Wan smiled charmingly at him, his hair askew, the stubble on his chin failing to conceal the dimple in his cheek or chin. “Are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

 

“Uh, yes,” Qui-Gon replied, and dipped his head briefly. “Keegan Hansh. Nice to meet you.” Obi-Wan’s smile broadened.

 

“I am Knight Kenobi,” he replied, “but my friends call me Obi-Wan. Please--feel free.” Qui-Gon’s eyebrows drew down in confusion but he nodded all the same.

 

“Keegan, then,” he said, reciprocating, and Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder before turning back to him apologetically.

 

“I must be off--you know how busy it is here in-Temple,” he said, eyes hooded seductively. “ _ Very _ pleased to meet you, Keegan--I very much hope to see you again.” With that confusing statement, he bowed respectfully and then left in the direction Qui-Gon had already been.

 

Qui-Gon stood where he was for a several minutes, processing.

 

“What,” he finally said, and turned, folded his arms, and stared after where Obi-Wan had been.

  
  


Over the next few days, life was difficult. Obi-Wan apparently visited the Archives at the same time every day, part of his routine during which he did research into whatever personal interest he had at the time. It was one of the few luxuries he could take for himself and he indulged in it whenever he had the chance. As a result, he was always in quite a...bouncy mood when he emerged, and that just-so-happened to usually be when Qui-Gon passed through.

 

“I never noticed, but the Temple Security uniforms are rather well-fitted,” Obi-Wan remarked one day. Qui-Gon hadn’t noticed, but was now feeling self-conscious about how his chest stretched the jacket in front.

 

“Oh, thank you!” Obi-Wan said the next day as Qui-Gon helped him pick up a stack of books he’d dropped. Qui-Gon was still unfortunately running into people, and Obi-Wan hadn’t seen him coming. “Oh, my--your hands are so much bigger than mine.” Obi-Wan shot him a coy look and then straightened up, grinning, hair a mess from falling and face flushed like he’d exerted himself.

 

“Trade with me please,” Qui-Gon begged one of his fellow officers later, and seeing how socially inept Qui-Gon was with Obi-Wan, the woman graciously agreed. Qui-Gon would have needed to make that happen eventually: her route went past the data bank storage rooms. This just gave him an extremely plausible excuse.

 

He was going to need to have a stern talking-to with Obi-Wan later about...no, that wasn’t right. Obi-Wan wasn’t his Padawan anymore, hadn’t been for two years now. Right, Qui-Gon decided. He was just never going to mention this ever again. Obi-Wan didn’t need to know more than the mission was classified. Done.

 

The scent of the training salles lingered far beyond the doors to the training hall as Qui-Gon approached on his daily rounds. The data bank storage rooms were just beyond it. Qui-Gon would need to use a special tool to copy the inside of the lock, and could bring it to one of many underworld businessmen to have a key made. For their purposes, after he copied it he’d make the trip to the underlevels but would make no transaction. Once back in the Temple without being caught he’d be given a key.

 

It was the low point of the day for training, and he made it to the storage room successfully. He inserted the tool and waved off a curious Padawan, explaining he was testing Temple security. The truth of the statement would be enough in the Force for the padawan to discern, and indeed the young black and silver Wookie whuffed agreeably and went back to training. Qui-Gon retrieved the device, pocketing it, and was out of the training hall in less than five minutes.

 

It looked like everything was finally going smoothly when a cultured voice called out, “Keegan!”

 

Nooooo, Qui-Gon thought. 

 

Yesssss, the Force answered.

 

“Keegan! Hello,” Obi-Wan beamed, drawing up next to him. Qui-Gon couldn’t help but smile, now that he saw him--Obi-Wan had apparently been helping in the gardens, and a smudge of dirt obscured the freckles on one cheek. 

 

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” he replied, and then wiped the dirt off Obi-Wan’s cheek with his thumb. Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide and then dropped back to normal again as his smile went from beaming and sunny to sly and seductive.

 

“You said you’re new to Coruscant, and I know how that is,” Obi-Wan said. “Let me take you out a bit, show you around. I know the best places to eat in the city,” he purred, stepping in close to Qui-Gon’s space. Qui-Gon backed up into a small alcove, and Obi-Wan followed.

 

“It’s--it’s all city,” Qui-Gon tried to argue, “the whole planet is.” Obi-Wan had brought a hand up to Qui-Gon’s waist and rubbed his thumb against Qui-Gon enticingly. 

 

“Please,” Obi-Wan said lowly, and leaned up. Qui-Gon couldn’t have done anything but lean down, gravity doing its work as he was brought in towards the sun that was Obi-Wan, and he felt Obi-Wan’s lips against his. Obi-Wan kissed like an earthquake, completely unexpected, and powerful, and it sent Qui-Gon’s worldview spinning. He found himself responding, especially when he noticed Obi-Wan’s half-hard dick rubbing against him through their trousers, and then Obi-Wan pulled back.

 

“Dinner?” Obi-Wan asked breathlessly. Qui-Gon felt the same, and nodded dumbly, trying to recover from that kiss. Obi-Wan’s smile broke out, wide and true in a way that so many of his smiles didn’t, and Qui-Gon was startled to recognize real emotion in it.

 

“I’ll meet you at the Archives tonight if that’s agreeable,” Obi-Wan offered. “Seventh hour? Here, take my comm code just in case.” A piece of flimsi was tucked into Qui-Gon’s pocket for him, and then Obi-Wan backed away with a satisfied grin on his face and a spring in his step.

 

Qui-Gon was left standing in the alcove, feeling like he’d been bludgeoned over the head with a very heavy object. 

 

“Oh sweet Force, I have a date,” he suddenly said. Then: “...shit.”

  
  


It was a confused Qui-Gon who finished his rounds and then retired to stare moodily at his closet. The people who had outfitted him for this mission had given him one civilian outfit, in case of events like coworker get-togethers or such where he couldn’t refuse to attend without raising suspicion. He doubted they’d had romance in mind. What they’d given him was serviceable though: dark trousers, a button-down shirt with collar, a thin tunic for underneath. He’d just wear his boots again. Thoughtfully, they’d included a sweater for it he got cold, so he shrugged that on over the button-down. The neck was wide enough for the collar to sit comfortably so, again: good enough.

 

It was always a little chilly on the landing pads, and indeed on most of Coruscant: at night, the concrete and building materials of the buildings leeched a little heat, but atmospheric regulators kept it on the cooler side to keep the days from being boiling. 

 

Qui-Gon met Obi-Wan at the Archives as planned and then they walked out into that chill, close together, arms bumping amicably. Obi-Wan called an air cab for them and then turned to look Qui-Gon over. He pushed a hand against Qui-Gon’s cheek, and Qui-Gon couldn’t help but lean into it just a little bit; Obi-Wan’s smile turned sweeter and he leaned up to press a kiss to Qui-Gon’s cheek.

 

“You look edible,” Obi-Wan said in Qui-Gon’s ear while he was close, and then straightened up and faced the landing pad with Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon was still processing the heat that stirred in his stomach when Obi-Wan snuck an arm around his waist, and Qui-Gon found it...comfortable. Very comfortable. He put his hand on Obi-Wan’s lower back and stroked the muscle there absently.

 

Obi-Wan shivered. Qui-Gon realized later that Obi-Wan still had use of the Force, and could still regulate his own body temperature. 

 

Dinner was fantastic. Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon to a small cafe a half-hour’s flight away that served truly excellent small plates of food from several different cultures. Qui-Gon ordered the Ambrian course, which was rich with fruits and sweet-meat dishes, while Obi-Wan ordered the Alderaanian course, which consisted was based around bird flesh and fresh vegetables. 

 

While they ate, they chatted. Obi-Wan was surprisingly easy to talk to when you weren’t always making life into a lesson. Qui-Gon realized with some chagrin that he’d still been doing that, even after acknowledging Obi-Wan as a Knight. That would need to change. Obi-Wan easily accepted Qui-Gon’s cover story, and didn’t press for more information when Qui-Gon intimated it was something he didn’t like talking about. 

 

They talked instead about Temple goings-ons, the latest news on the HoloNet concerning technological advances, and Qui-Gon even discovered that they both read the same serial fiction. Obi-Wan apparently hadn’t wanted to admit to his Master that he subscribed to an ongoing romance story. They argued good-naturedly over its literary merits (or, Obi-Wan stipulated, its lack thereof) until finally Qui-Gon had to ask.

 

“If it’s such trash, why do you read it?” he demanded, laughing. Obi-Wan chuckled with him, running a hand through his hair. Qui-Gon watched him fondly, and then took that hand and held it in his own carefully. Obi-Wan smiled bashfully down at their joined hands.

 

“I suppose because I like to hope that one day, I’ll have that too,” he replied, and continued looking at their hands, expression soft. Qui-Gon squeezed his hand, and they sat together quietly and enjoyed each other’s presence for a while.

 

A wait-droid came by to see if they need refills and broke the silence, and they decided it was time to get going. Obi-Wan insisted on footing the bill (“I invited you, after all. Maybe next time, you will pay?”) and they strolled out. Obi-Wan called another air cab and they climbed in.

 

As soon as the divider between themselves and the driver rolled up, Obi-Wan surprised him by throwing a leg across Qui-Gon’s and climbing into his lap before leaning down to kiss him deeply. If Qui-Gon thought the first kiss had been an earthquake, this one was the tsunami. It swept away all higher thought and left only Obi-Wan’s familiar, beloved scent in his nose, the wet sounds of their mouths in his ears, and the feel of Obi-Wan’s skin beneath his fingers. Obi-Wan began to roll his hips, pushing against Qui-Gon’s developing erection.

 

“Can I, please,” Obi-Wan panted, shuddering into a particularly delicious bit of friction, “can I blow you? Please say yes.” Qui-Gon must have made a noise that sounded like permission because the next second Obi-Wan was undoing his trousers and yanking his underclothes down to pull out Qui-Gon’s cock and lick around it. Qui-Gon felt his head hit the seat as he closed his eyes tight and groaned, but then had to open them again so he could watch. Obi-Wan’s head bobbed, his mouth working Qui-Gon over like a professional, and Qui-Gon swore he saw stars.

 

“Fuck, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon groaned, “you suck cock like you were made for it--how do you--” Obi-Wan interrupted with a teasing finger, dry against Qui-Gon’s hole, and the rest of Qui-Gon’s sentence degenerated into quiet keening and tiny definitely-not-whines. Qui-Gon could feel and hear Obi-Wan making noises too, little whimpers and the sound of him pulling air in through his nose so he couldn’t have to let go, and then a shuddering whine. Qui-Gon could only hold on for dear life, feeling Obi-Wan’s hand move from his entrance to massage his balls gently, and then Qui-Gon was coming into his mouth with a moan.

 

“How,” Qui-Gon repeated, dazed, and Obi-Wan sat back on his heels and tucked Qui-Gon back into his trousers. Qui-Gon sat up, looking outside, and looked back at Obi-Wan with a pained expression. “We don’t have time for me to--”

 

“Not a problem,” Obi-Wan said, sheepishly. Qui-Gon parsed out what he meant and his eyes darkened perceptibly, but the divider rolled down and then the cab driver was barking at them and holding out a paw for credits.

 

Qui-Gon handed over his chits and then got out of the cab after Obi-Wan. He stopped and looked carefully at the Jedi standing before him: it was full night now, and the neons of the city lights reflected colorful lights in Obi-Wan’s hair. Qui-Gon could smell sex on him, heavy and tantalizing, and realized with a start that he was smelling both of them. It sent a pulse of heat down his spine, and as Obi-Wan pulled him in for a goodnight kiss, Qui-Gon made a decision.

 

He wanted this. Qui-Gon wanted this desperately. This side of his Obi-Wan was amazing, and sensual, and fun, and Qui-Gon needed it in his life for longer than the next few days or weeks. After the mission was done, he’d approach Obi-Wan as himself and hopefully...hopefully Obi-Wan would give him a chance.

  
  


With that goal in mind, Qui-Gon decided this mission had gone on for far too long. It should have been over a week ago, but he’d been trying for slow infiltration. 

 

“Fuck it,” Qui-Gon said aloud as he put his work uniform back on. It wouldn’t excuse him entirely if he was caught in the wrong place, but it made it plausible for him to be out at night. He put the portable hard drive into a belted pouch and then walked straight towards the data storage rooms.

 

The training hall was almost completely dark in deference to nocturnal species, and Qui-Gon had to slow down to navigate it without hitting a wall. The Force would have been very useful, but that was part of the point--could someone without the Force get in and out undetected? Qui-Gon used the copied key to open the storage room doors, then went to the master console. The hard drive plugged directly into it and started copying immediately, and Qui-Gon breathed a sigh of relief.

 

The snap-thrummmm of lightsaber ignition startled him, and he whirled around to see Obi-Wan standing in the doorway, his ‘saber to Qui-Gon’s throat.

 

“What,” Obi-Wan said, voice steel-hard, “are you doing.” Qui-Gon stood stock-still; he hadn’t planned for this. He hadn’t planned for anything remotely like this. Obi-Wan now thought his new lover was a traitor...Qui-Gon said nothing, unsure how best to explain.

 

Obi-Wan took it as the admission it was and his lips curled in an angry snarl once before he firmed them and set his jaw. “Up,” he directed, and Qui-Gon obeyed. The tip of his ‘saber to Qui-Gon’s back, Obi-Wan maneuvered him to the Battlemaster’s office and then flicked his eyes to the door. Qui-Gon knew from experience he was notifying the Battlemaster that he was needed. Dallig came slamming out the door, and then stopped cold, eyes wide at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. 

 

Then, to Obi-Wan’s obvious and overwhelming confusion, Dallig burst out laughing.

 

“Oh my gods,” he said, clutching his sides. “Oh, Force! Oh, you trained him too well! You absolute dumbass--” And then it was Obi-Wan’s turn to freeze, not a muscle moving. Then he turned very slowly to Qui-Gon, who swallowed hard at the look in Obi-Wan’s eyes.

 

“What,” Obi-Wan said. His voice was dangerous, like Qui-Gon had only heard a few awful times in their lives.

 

“Hi,” Qui-Gon tried weakly. Obi-Wan thumbed off his ‘saber and then reached over to rip the second-skin off Qui-Gon’s face. He stared up at Qui-Gon’s revealed face long disbelieving moments before his eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened again, and he punched Qui-Gon solidly in the jaw before walking angrily out of the office.

 

Battlemaster Dallig had no idea what was going on by this point, but he knew one thing.

 

“You fucked up, Jinn,” Dallig guessed, still wheezing with his hands on his knees. Qui-Gon pushed him over into a giggling heap and stalked off.

  
  


Qui-Gon was back less than five minutes later, plaintive tone making his apology clear.

 

“Battlemaster, I need your help,” Qui-Gon said, and Dallig straightened up from where he’d been patting the last bit of fluff off his trousers. 

 

“You sound serious, Master Jinn,” he replied evenly. Qui-Gon dipped his head in a bow, acknowledging. “Alright then. What can I do?” Ten minutes later the whole sordid story had been told and Dallig was staring at Qui-Gon with utter disbelief.

 

“You deserve every ounce of upset you’ve garnered,” Dallig pronounced. Qui-Gon frowned in agreement, sadly casting his eyes towards the floor where he studied a minor imperfection.

 

“I do,” Qui-Gon said at last, “but Obi-Wan does not. Please--just a signed memo stating I was undercover would be enough. I know it isn’t an excuse but at least it will be an explanation.” Dallig sighed but acquiesced and printed off a ‘plast memo, signing the bottom with a flourish and handing it over.

 

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said, bowing, “May I count this mission officially closed?”

 

“Sure, fine, yes,” Dallig muttered, and Qui-Gon decided it was time to leave. He left the office and traversed the halls towards home, his own apartment and not the temporary suite he’d been sleeping in. It would be nice to be home, he sighed.

 

Except his apartment was locked to his hand. Qui-Gon stared down at it and wondered what had happened. They hadn’t locked it as part of his mission, and it wouldn’t have been locked to him anyway.

 

Ah, he realized wearily. He had a partner-Knight who was exceptional with coding, didn’t he. Obi-Wan must have locked it; it was petty, for sure, but Qui-Gon couldn’t find it in him to blame Obi-Wan for it. 

 

Well, Qui-Gon already decided he needed to be completely honest with Obi-Wan, hadn’t he? Maybe it was time to do that now, instead of waiting for morning. Course set, Qui-Gon made his way to Obi-Wan’s apartment, where his handprint was usually keyed into the lock. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work here either, and Qui-Gon stared at it. Then he folded himself down to sit against the door frame, settling in for a long night.

 

Hours passed. Qui-Gon drowsed as much as he dared, ignoring curious looks from Knights and Masters that passed by. One good thing about being ‘eccentric’: nobody questioned when he did something strange. His butt went numb from the hard floor, and the frame of the door pressed against his spine painfully so that he shifted to reposition it. Eventually the lights came up, imitating sunrise in a slow progression of light, and Qui-Gon leaned his head against the door and sighed.

 

He shut his eyes and let his weight relax against the door just before it slid open, and he clumsily caught himself with one hand on the door frame. Obi-Wan looked down at him, startled, before scowling.

 

“Fix yourself,” Obi-Wan scolded. Qui-Gon realized he never uncloaked his Force presence; he’d spent two weeks without active use of the Force, and had adjusted. Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon reached deep inside himself and tenderly blew the embers of his Force presence back up, letting the bonfire of his soul relight and blaze. Obi-Wan stared down at him sternly, but Qui-Gon thought Obi-Wan seemed relieved when he opened his eyes again, done. 

 

“Obi-Wan, please,” Qui-Gon pleaded softly, looking up at this handsome man he’d grown to love. “Let me tell you about this mission.” Obi-Wan looked as though he’d deny him, but then blew out an irritated breath and gestured Qui-Gon into the apartment.

  
  


“I was investigating Temple Security,” Qui-Gon began as Obi-Wan made a cup of tea. He noted Obi-Wan didn’t offer him any, but accepted it as his due. “It was an undercover assignment, and I was allowed to tell no one about it either before or during. Only the Council and Battlemaster Dallig knew I was here; everyone else who inquired was to be told I was on mission somewhere in the Outer Rim. Some small world called Bakura, I think.”

 

“The Senate’s computers were hacked last month,” Obi-Wan murmured, putting the pieces together with his usual proficiency as he stirred sweetener into his tea. Qui-Gon nodded.

 

“Exactly,” Qui-Gon agreed. “I have the mission write-up here, if you want to look at it. The Council didn’t want our own data to be at risk, and I was tasked with exploring the physical security in the Temple. There were others in charge of the software and coding side.

 

“So I was given a second-skin face and body covering, a backstory, and a uniform--all things which would have been easy for an experienced infiltrator. Then I was tasked with getting a copy of the data core, and turned loose. 

 

“I didn’t plan on meeting you by the Archives,” Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan snorted. “My coordination is much less than ideal without subconscious use of the Force; it’s a weakness I will need to work on in the future.”

 

“I had a bruise on my ass after that one time,” Obi-Wan commented acerbically, coming to sit down on a chair opposite the couch where Qui-Gon sat. Qui-Gon flushed, wishing he had his long hair to disguise the redness in his cheeks.

 

“I didn’t expect to have to fend off flirtatious advances,” Qui-Gon replied, just as dryly, and this time Obi-Wan was the one to feels his cheeks heat. “Nor did I expect to--to respond to them. At first I was uncomfortable with how you were treating me, but I was able to use it as justification to switch patrol routes and get closer to my goal, so I resolved to forget about it.

 

“Then you kissed me.” Qui-Gon’s eyes were fixed on the low table before them. He didn’t actually fidget with his hem, but kept a small section pulled taut between his hands in a nervous tic. “And I couldn’t say no when you asked me out after that. That kiss touched part of me that hadn’t been touched in a long time, and there was no way I could not see what happened next.”

 

Obi-Wan looked genuinely surprised by that admission. His eyebrows rose and his mouth opened slightly as he took a breath in and leaned forward, rapt.

 

“And dinner with you was wonderful! I’ve never seen you so relaxed around me. And when you relaxed, we could talk about anything. I’ve always known you are an exceptional Jedi, Obi-Wan, and an exceptional man--but that side of you was like someone out of a daydream, for me. I realized how much I wanted to keep seeing you, well beyond when my mission would have ended. 

 

“Then the air cab,” Qui-Gon said, embarrassed. Obi-Wan flushed as well. “I couldn’t say no, both because of you and because I couldn’t think how to do so without blowing my cover.” 

 

“Just--the less said there the better,” Obi-Wan agreed. His demeanor had softened from angry and he now had a guarded look. Qui-Gon could feel the hope locked down tight in Obi-Wan’s chest and felt its match surge in his own.

 

“I decided this mission had taken long enough, after we said goodnight, and left to go finish it,” he finished. “I had hoped to speak with you later. I wanted to get clearance from the Council to tell you about it, considering what happened, and see if you maybe wanted--wanted to try again. With me. Qui-Gon, not Keegan.” He fell silent, awaiting judgement.

 

Obi-Wan sat back slowly, and took a sip of his tea. His eyes strayed to the paperwork Qui-Gon had set down on the table, and then away as he accessed the Force; Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan touching his emotions, tasting them for honesty, and tried to welcome him in. The touch retreated, and turned outward to the currents of the Unifying Force that were so often indiscernible to Qui-Gon before pulling back in.

 

“Will you give me another chance?” Qui-Gon asked. “I can take you somewhere nice for dinner, and afterwards, you can call whatever air cab pleases you?”

 

Obi-Wan looked at him evenly, studying his face through nothing but sight, and then--Qui-Gon blinked. Obi-Wan’s face curled into a flirtatious smirk, and he slouched down, legs wide. 

 

“Or, we can skip dinner altogether--if you’d like,” Obi-Wan offers lightly. A faint thread of scent reached Qui-Gon’s nose, and he nearly didn’t recognize it; it was the last thing he’d expected, and he opened his mouth slightly to take air in, trying to be sure. Obi-Wan’s words finally hit him, and Qui-Gon darted off the lounge to trip over the low table over in his haste. 

 

Qui-Gon leaned in, pushing his forehead against Obi-Wan’s and letting a trembling breath go slowly. Obi-Wan nudged him and then put his cheek against Qui-Gon’s, affectionate and warm, and Qui-Gon pushed into it gently, letting his eyes fall shut.

 

He felt Obi-Wan’s lips press against his a moment later, and returned the gesture. Softly they kissed at first, exploring the texture of each other’s faces. Qui-Gon couldn’t help but open his mouth a little, wanting to taste Obi-Wan as he had earlier, and Obi-Wan apparently agreed. He swiped a tongue across Qui-Gon’s lips, daintily requesting more, and Qui-Gon reached out to touch it with his own. Obi-Wan’s mouth was hot and infinitely exciting and Qui-Gon shifted restlessly up against him, feeling Obi-Wan’s body up against his own.

 

Obi-Wan caressed Qui-Gon’s short-shorn hair, running his hand up and down from his neck to his shoulder and back up to his head again rhythmically. Qui-Gon moaned, breathy and needful, and rucked up Obi-Wan’s tunics to knead his sides and hips. This time, Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan’s excitement and desire through the Force, and it added a new layer to the already-rich sensations. The scent of arousal bloomed freshly around them and Qui-Gon thought unconcerned that he might be losing his mind.

 

“Can I--” he tried to say, and then was distracted by Obi-Wan’s jaw, which desperately needed kissing. He lipped at the scruff there, the beginnings of the beard Obi-Wan had been threatening to grow for years now, and then back towards Obi-Wan’s ear. There was a spot just beneath his ear, bare of hair and beard, that Obi-Wan grunted and pushed his hips up for if Qui-Gon sucked at it just so. 

 

“Oh Force, yes please,” Obi-Wan answered, and started undoing his belt. Qui-Gon helped, pushing tunic and underclothes out of the way to reach Obi-Wan’s cock. He admired it for a moment, liking its proportions and the way the head already glistened with a drop of precome at the tip. He leaned forward and delicately licked that away, savoring it as he closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth slightly, imprinting the scent-memory for later recall. 

 

Obi-Wan thrust up very slightly, nudging against Qui-Gon’s chin, and Qui-Gon took the hint to start stroking Obi-Wan with a strong, calloused hand. The rough skin pulled and caught slightly at Obi-Wan’s skin, eliciting a startled hum of pleasure, and Qui-Gon happily took Obi-Wan’s cock in his mouth.

 

Obi-Wan groaned louder, reaching up to grasp Qui-Gon’s hair, and suddenly he stopped and sat up.

 

“Your hair,” he complained mournfully, running his fingers through the short strands, “they cut your gorgeous hair!” Qui-Gon laughed, then dragged Obi-Wan’s hips back towards him and sucked him back in. They could grow it back again, at the healer’s ward--follicle regenerators weren’t often used for cosmetic purposes, but since he’d been required to cut his hair off for a mission, the Council would approve it.

 

Qui-Gon mused over what they could do with his usual length of hair, and wove a mental image for Obi-Wan as he worked his cock diligently: Qui-Gon, on his hands in knees, in front of Obi-Wan on the bed. Obi-Wan holding him still by a long braid and fucking him hard from behind. He sent the idea to Obi-Wan through their pair bond, and was extremely gratified when Obi-Wan choked on a shout and came hard in Qui-Gon’s mouth in wet pulses.

 

“Oh, fuck, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan gasped, trying to catch his breath as Qui-Gon tried to coax just a little more out of his cock, “you need to warn me before you do that!” Qui-Gon smirked, carefully licking the last of Obi-Wan’s semen off his fingers and looking at Obi-Wan with hooded eyes.

 

“It takes about an hour for them to regenerate my hair,” Qui-Gon said conversationally. Obi-Wan looked at him intently, heat in his eyes again. “I’ll go make an appointment, shall I?” 

 

“Later,” Obi-Wan decided, and hauled Qui-Gon up for more kisses before tucking his head into Qui-Gon’s chest with a happy sigh. “For now, you owe me a meal. Breakfast is as good as dinner.”

  
  



End file.
